The True Face of Evil
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Law & Order: SVU, Season 14 Episode 19: Born Psychopath. In an alternate course of events, Henry Mesner takes better notice of what's coming his way as the NYPD's detectives close in on the truth, and who Henry really is. If they want to know who he is, Henry decides, he'll be glad to show them.


**The True Face of Evil**

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 **A/N: A warning: this is gonna be darker than the events of the canon episode were. This brief story is told from the viewpoint of a cold-hearted 10-year old, a born psychopath as the title of the episode says, and in this version of events, he gets to face down the consequences of his actions in a way more of his choosing. That isn't good for anyone around him, or for Henry. But, if you'd like to know about this what-if that occurred to me while I was watching S14E19, read on.**

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It was April 6th, 2013. Saturday.

Henry Mesner had been in a state of panic when his parents first told him about the "treatment facility" they meant to take him to in Vermont. He just flipped out. Furious and scared to death at the same time, Henry didn't know what to do. He'd had all these brilliant plans, knew all along he was better than everyone else, but in the past year things had started spiraling out of control. Henry was gifted, talented, essentially a genius. But the problem was that he was too gifted, too talented, too… different. He had no peers, and as a result of his very greatness, Henry had been cursed all his life. "Creepy Henry," they called him at school. Kids didn't want anything to do with him, and these days, even new students seemed to learn about him fast.

How was that his problem? Henry hurt the other kids- mostly boys- in his elementary school when they did something he didn't like. One boy cut in front of him in line, so Henry grabbed and threw him. Another took his favorite swing right as Henry was heading for it, so Henry beat him up. A third, a bigger kid, took Henry's favorite toy, so Henry tackled him and showed him what strength and toughness was all about. He might have been your typical skinny ten year old, but Henry was packing more muscle than you'd think, and more important, Henry was mean. If you got him angry, he could be as strong as a kid twice his size.

It didn't make any sense to Henry, why they shunned him on the playground, on the bus, when his teachers, for the most part, adored him. Henry could charm adults effortlessly- or at least he'd been able to in the past. His classmates called him "Creepy Henry" and that infuriated him, but Henry could lie and manipulate and charm, and nobody was more open to it than the adults in his life.

But things were slipping. His good reputation was crumbling, at home and at school. How had it all gone wrong? He'd pushed Ruby down the stairs the morning of the 4th. So what? Henry had wanted her to shut up. He'd wanted to see what would happen when she went down the stairs. It had been another of his experiments, daring to ask questions and discovering things that would benefit him. And maybe even benefit mankind. The only way to find out was to do the experiments no matter what. In Henry's opinion, if people would only open up a little and stop being so uptight and rule-centric, stop being such a bunch of moralistic cowards, the possibilities were endless. If Henry were allowed to dispose of Ruby in the name of science, or mankind, or on behalf of firstborns everywhere, life would be so much better for everyone. Everyone.

But instead his latest experiment had gotten the goddamned New York Police Department involved. Those fucking detectives had come sniffing and honestly, over the past 48 hours, it seemed like they had never left. Henry's usual tricks weren't working, and that made him scared. Henry wanted to just pick up an M60 machine gun- he'd seen that cool motherfucker Animal Mother using one in Full Metal Jacket, which he 'borrowed' off BuccaneerBay a few weeks ago- and kill them all. All the people who knew too much, who were asking too many questions, and who were, Henry was becoming increasingly convinced, personally out to get him.

Danny Parks, David LaFleur, Josh Richards, Sean Harrison, and all the rest of them- every shitty little kid Henry had dispensed righteous justice to was now coming back to get him. They had made sure Ruby went to the school nurse. They made sure the nurse found the marks from Ruby's little fall. They had called the NYPD, and sent them to Henry's fine apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. They had made that fucking gook psychologist come talk to Henry, but they hadn't been able to make him stay. Henry still got a good laugh about that one. Dr. Hung or Hong or whatever his goddamned name was, he hadn't been able to stand more than a few minutes with Henry telling him the truth, staring him down.

And then this morning they'd sent Mom and Dad to turn on him at last.

The brilliant scientific, strategic mind Henry was gifted with did him no good, it seemed. His talents and genius were destined to go to waste. Henry could have designed the Minuteman IV missile or commanded the greatest American field army ever deployed… if only given the chance. But he wasn't to be given the chance. When Dad got that emergency call to work, Henry's mind suddenly cleared, and he realized what it was that he needed to do.

Henry had been acting impulsively as he slammed the laundry room door and jammed a step-stool under it, making it damn near impossible to open. He'd been a little more controlled as he raced into Ruby's room, tied her up, and started a fire, beginning with a trashcan stuffed with paper and loaded with those match heads he'd been saving.

Now, after placing a call to that cunt Benson, Henry stood in the bedroom of his sister, delighting in the pitiful movements of his sister as she struggled to get away as the flames leaped a little higher. The wastebin would take a little time to spread its fire elsewhere, but it would happen. Henry had no doubts. Smoke was already starting to cloud the room.

 _Will the flames themselves get her_ , Henry wondered _, or will the smoke inhalation_?

Thank God he'd thought to gag her as well as tie her up. Henry knew those muffled sounds were her begging and pleading with him, saying anything she thought would make him let her go, let her out of this room.

But there was no way he could do that. Ruby had started all this. She'd sold him out, ratted on him, turned him in. If she'd just kept her fucking mouth shut none of this would've even been necessary.

She had pushed him too far. And just as important, she knew too much.

So did Mom.

And Dad.

He'd have to kill them all, if he could.

This whole thing was reckless, insane, and there was no way he wouldn't get caught. Henry, to some degree, realized that.

But the fact was he just didn't care anymore.

Henry had no friends. He took to no one, and kept to himself, because by age ten he had long ago figured out that there was no one on his level, no one worth his friendship. He might have hung out with Toby now and then, a kid up on the 10th floor who Henry mostly tolerated because Toby knew how to shut the fuck up and do as he was told. He was such a nice kid that he pretty much went along with anything Henry said they should do. But Henry couldn't make Toby participate in what he _really_ wanted to do. The kid was too much of a wuss. But he had his uses.

That vintage M1911 in his dad's study, for instance, in that big gun safe. Henry had managed to get Mr. Burke to show him and Toby the inside of it once; there wasn't much inside. Kind of a letdown. Henry had imagined a tall safe packed with firearms; pistols, shotguns, Thompson submachine guns, M1 Garands, AK-47s and M60 machine guns. An arsenal.

Instead, there was the M1911 and some boxes of ammo and magazines, and there was this long, wood-and-metal gun that Mr. Burke called a M1903 Springfield. It was the M1903A3,the updated version, outfitted with the rear sight of the M1 Garand. Made by Remington, versus the 1911 being from Colt. Both were genuine military, issued and used in World War II.

Henry really wanted to know how many people had been killed with them. He wanted to hold those guns. He wanted to aim them out over 5th Avenue, over his schoolyard, and just… kill. He'd thought about it so many times since he found out those guns were there and saw them himself, but he'd always hesitated before going through with it. Mostly because Henry had yet held out hope that he could win- that he could make a real friend, ending his lonely existence, and go out and just conquer the world.

But that wasn't gonna happen now.

The smoke brought Henry back to reality, snapped him back to where he was. It was making his eyes water now, forcing him to show weakness, coughing over and over.

This was unbearable. Henry had underestimated how bad the smoke would have to get to really torch this place and finish Ruby off. Henry fled without a backward look. He tripped and crashed down the stairs to the apartment's first floor, but rolled with it and just sprang up to his feet. He wished there'd been gasoline. He wished there'd been some dynamite. He ignored his mother's beating on the laundry room door, sang out that yes, Mom, he had called 911- if Detective Benson counted- and then he yanked open the front door and he got the hell out of there.

 **XX**

The ten year old with the curly brown hair could barely stand the wait as he called one of the elevators out in the hall; now that things were in motion, every second counted. A moment wasted was tragedy. A minute wasted was unspeakable.

Ding!

The doors opened, and Henry rushed in; like he'd hoped, it was empty. Too many people were involved in what was happening already. Henry hit he button for the tenth floor and then the button to close the doors; at this point Henry, who was more than capable of closing elevator doors on little old ladies and moms with an armful of groceries, would have gladly kicked them until their bones broke and then shut the doors.

He could not be stopped. Not now. He had come this far only for life to cheat him at last, but he hadn't come this far to be denied the freedom of choice at this last moment. Henry had never even held a gun before, so he was gambling everything on the idea that he could learn at the literal last second.

They meant to lock him up. Put him away. They were gonna put him in one of those places, but Henry had no intention of going that quietly.

He made it up to the tenth floor and calmly wandered out of the elevator, as if he had not a care in the world. Henry whistled the theme to Camptown Races as he walked. A beautiful, sweet feeling came over him… and suddenly, not having a care in the world was no longer an act. It was Henry's true state of mind. He was done. All through. Or so they thought. But he'd still have something to say about that! He would take the door they weren't showing to him, and Henry Mesner would be free up to the very last moment of his life. Free, and at last able to show them all the power and genius he'd been holding back all this time.

 _I'll see them in Hell before I see them in Vermont_ , Henry thought cheerfully. He did not believe in Hell, or in Heaven, but the phrase was a good one. Henry liked it.

Then he reached apartment 1023 and knocked.

The door opened a few moments later, and there was Mr. Burke.

"Well, hello, Henry!" he exclaimed, appearing genuinely pleased.

"Hey, Mr. Burke! Is Toby around?" Henry replied brightly.

"Sure, he's in his room. Toby!"

Like that dumbass dog of theirs, Snowball, Toby came running on command.

"Hey, Henry!" he said, bounding up and hugging the brown-haired boy. Henry willed himself not to use the pocket knife on him. He hated being so much as touched by stupid kids like Toby, but to keep the alarm from being raised, he had to endure it this time. In fact, Henry found it in himself to be friendly right back.

"Hey, Tobe," he said, using the boy's dumb fucking nickname- that he'd made up and asked friends to call him by. "What's up?"

"I was playing _Peggle 2_ on the Xbox One," Toby offered.

"Sounds great," Henry said with a smile, secretly wanting to draw his knife and make them hand the goddamned guns and ammo already.

 **XX**

They had been in the room playing around with a game of _Peggle 2_ , at which Henry was losing terribly- this fucking game made no goddamn sense- for about ten minutes when Henry's patience snapped. Knowing he was about to lose yet another round of this stupid game, and that the police would be coming here soon- someone would think to check the Burke place, given Henry's known association with Toby- was making him really stressed.

So Henry set down the controller, and in one swift motion clamped one hand over Toby's mouth and forced him down on the bed, while his other went for his pocket knife, thumbed the blade partway out, and with a quick jerk of the wrist snapped it out the rest of the way.

Toby's startled squawk was cut off, and Henry's superior strength made sure none of Toby's struggling did anything. But when the knife's almost impossibly-thin edge was put to the most vulnerable point on Toby's throat, Toby heeded Henry's warning and went still.

"You listen to me," Henry whispered furiously. "I don't like you. I never did. Everybody wants to take something and that's the _only reason_ they make friends with anybody. You think I wasn't here to take something from you?"

Toby shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes.

Henry gave a harsh- but quiet- laugh. "Shows what _you_ know, Tobe. Now I'm gonna take my hand off your mouth and you're gonna tell me the combo to your dad's gun safe. If you try to yell I'll kill you." He paused. "You understand me? You do anything but whisper that gun safe combo and I'll slit your throat like a bratwurst."

Toby nodded hurriedly.

"Okay."

Keeping the knife pressed against Toby's throat, Henry lifted his hand off Toby's mouth and grabbed a fistful of his sandy-blond hair instead, yanking it as painfully as he could. Toby gasped in what Henry sincerely hoped was agony, but he didn't cry out.

"What's the combination?" Henry demanded. He had to hurry this up. He needed that combination… right… fucking… now.

"4867," Toby whispered, then he started sobbing. "God, Henry- why- why-"

"Shut up," Henry hissed, and slapped a hand over Toby's mouth again. "Now I'm gonna tie you up. You fucking keep quiet."

It took a few more precious minutes to get Toby off the bed, and tie him to this little chair that was conveniently there in the closet, where Henry meant to hide him anyway. Toby was gagged with one of his own shirts from his dresser, helping make sure he'd shut the hell up. Henry didn't speak as he worked, grabbing each one of Toby's belts and tying the other boy down a little better. When he was done he stood up and shut the closet doors, leaving Toby in darkness.

He had nothing to say to that kid anymore.

This frigging apartment was so nice that Toby had his own goddamn bathroom. His own bathroom, for Chrissakes- what a waste on this stupid little kid! Henry's sense there was absolutely no justice in the world (by which he really meant getting what he wanted) was further reinforced by the fact that Toby's closet was half the size of Henry's whole fucking room.

Snowball, that dumb fucking dog, had been having another nap in the bathroom when Henry came in to take a piss before heading to Mr. Burke's study. He stepped on her tail, and the little white, furry dog yelped. Henry had been kind to her before, though, and he coaxed her back to him, then into his arms.

"Come on, girl," Henry said sweetly. "Come on. I'm sorry. I'll make it all better."

Then he went over to the drain on the ridiculously large sink and closed it shut. He turned on the water, not too warm or too cold, and tied Snowball's leash securely to the tap.

Snowball didn't think anything of it. Henry smiled. The dog figured she was getting a bath, and she liked baths. The ten-year-old's smile widened.

He was rather fond of baths too.

 **XX**

After taking care of business with the pooch, Henry went into full mission mode. He was all steel, all strength, just purpose and will. Mr. Burke was on the sofa watching a rerun of the 2011 Superbowl; he hadn't even noticed the sounds of the Xbox One game stopping abruptly in Toby's room. He didn't notice Henry creeping silently through the apartment, either, behind the couch and past him towards the open door of his study.

 **XX**

Henry had made sure to steal Toby's new red Jansport backpack before he left the room, smirking as he found it empty of any space-consuming books. That was perfect. Finally, something going his way.

When he got into Mr. Burke's study, Henry went straight for the gun safe. Promising swift and painful death for Toby if the combination was wrong, Henry grasped the lock with his fingers; he almost dropped it but managed to catch it before it clanged against the heavy steel door.

4…8…6…7.

Henry tugged, and for a moment it seemed like Toby really had lied, and that little son of a bitch would have a world of agony coming in return for it. But then it happened. Henry pushed up, then tugged down, and the lock disengaged. He got it out of the way, and in just a moment, with only the tightest tug on the safe's door handle, the door silently swung open.

And Henry smiled.

Six magazines for the M1911, seven rounds each, plus big box of 500 brass-cased, full metal jacket .45 ACP rounds. Winchester, just like the .30-06 bullets Henry knew went in the Springfield. That was the bullet's name, too; .30-06 Springfield. And there were twelve boxes of Winchester .30-06 SPRG rounds, 20 rounds per box. A sling for the Springfield, genuine military issue from the look of it, allowed it to slide nicely over the boy's bony shoulder. The Colt went in his back pocket.

The game was a damn rerun, but Mr. Burke was involved as shit. He cheered as the crowd from two years ago did, and while he was busy rooting for his team, the New York Giants, Henry unlocked the window of the study that led to the fire escape. He pushed it up, glad the window was new and modern and made almost no sound at all. He crawled out, turned, and pushed the window shut again.

 _Goodbye, Toby. Goodbye, Mr. Burke. Goodbye, Snowball, you dead fucking dog_.

Henry hurried up the fire escape, back and forth up the flights of steps. Four floors. For while floors worth of steps he had to go up, running at a crazy, breakneck speed the whole way. Henry knew time was running out. He knew they'd be at his parents' apartment soon, if they weren't already. Then they'd soon be at the Burke's. Then…

The run up the fire escape and climbing onto the roof left Henry winded, but still he did not slow up. He couldn't afford to slow up. Henry sprinted across the rooftop, past one air conditioning and heating and electrical unit after another, heading for the maintenance rooftop access door. Thinking quickly, he got a piece of paper and some tape (how those things were in his backpack at the very moment Henry needed them, he had no idea) and wrote that there was a bomb rigged up to detonate if the door was opened. Henry wrote it carefully, in all-caps, making it as hard as he could to tell it was written by a kid. He then shoved it under the door and turned to business.

Henry unslung the rifle as he was about to go for the view over 5th Avenue. He shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and unzipped it, and wasted no time tearing open the boxes of ammunition open. He opened the M1903's bolt, loaded five rounds in, and closed it again. Henry was so excited he could barely sit still; his fingers trembled as he worked. He could hardly keep a smile off his face or a thought in his head. As he lay flat on his taut belly, crawled out to the edge of the roof, and took aim at his first target, Henry congratulated himself on the success of his scheme, and the payoff of his diligent work. He had known, somehow, that this day might come, and he had prepared well for it. He had found out what weapons Toby's dad kept in the apartment, and that was what he needed.

Extensive reading of downloaded copies of Army operator's and maintenance manuals, viewing of online videos and documentary films on classic American firearms- all pursued carefully and discreetly- had left Henry well-educated on the M1911 and the M1903 and how to use them. He had no practical, hands-on experience with them, but hell… he'd get plenty of practical experience right now.

Okay. Concentrate. Henry giggled. Oh, this was going to be so much fun. No, no. Concentrate. Concentrate…

He knew to make damn sure to look through the rear sight and front sight, to close his left eye, to keep the lightest touch of his pointer finger on the trigger until he would squeeze it- steadily, not suddenly and forcefully- to fire. These really were some kickass iron sights. The M1903A3's rear sight was taken straight from the M1 Garand, far more advanced from the century-plus old sights of the original M1903. And while fourteen floors was a ways up, it was nothing at all to reach down there to street level. Not for a boy and his Springfield.

Henry smiled as he fired the first shot. It was a miss, but he shattered a cop car's window, and watching as everybody turned around and started freaking out- especially once Henry worked the bolt, aimed, and fired again, this time nailing a cop right in the back- was a hell of a lot of fun.

The rifle kicked like a fucking mule. The first time it wasn't pressed against his shoulder firmly enough and it punched him in the jaw. The second time it punched his shoulder. With nowhere to go but straight out the barrel, the gas expanding every time a bullet was fired sent the recoil straight back into Henry's shoulder. It sucked, but that was the Springfield. Henry was just going to have to live with it.

The brown-haired boy wondered if Detective Armadillo was down there. Or that fucking Chink Hong or Hang or whatever the hell he was called. He sincerely hoped he'd get to kill them both. He hated them. He'd get them all! Everyone who'd ever stood in his way would pay for it today, pay right through the fucking nose. He was beyond their control now. No one could stop him anymore.

 _They think I'm evil_? Henry thought with indignation, outrage, fury. _They look at me and think they see the true face of evil?_ _Well, now they're gonna see what 'evil' really is_.

Henry wished there could be another of him, standing invisible in the street, looking right at wherever he fired, so he could see it all. When he shot someone, how much did it hurt? If he shot one of these people in the head, what would it do to them?

Would their brains come out of their forehead?

It was gonna be so much fun doing this. Henry chuckled now and then as he worked, wishing he could see it up close each time he blew out another window, each time he shot someone new. The view wasn't bad from up here, not bad at all. Henry was absolutely beyond talking to at this point, and he showed it when they tried negotiating with him not once but twice as events unfolded. Henry never replied, not even when they addressed him by name. He didn't care if they knew who he was. He was already showing them that.

What they failed to realize- what, quite possibly, no one wanted to acknowledge or allow themselves to believe- was that ten-year-old Henry Mesner was beyond talking down, because there was no one left to talk to. The lights were on, but only the hateful, bitter boy, the one hellbent on revenge on a world that had kept him down, the one who no longer cared if he lived and in fact _wanted_ to die, was home. Henry fought on and made it clear negotiating was not going to work, and surrender was out of the question. But he also made it clear he was not going down easy.

Smart, agile, and becoming a better shot every time he fired, Henry was sitting on a good stock of ammunition and was eager to use it. He gave it his best. Set his mind to it, just like they said at school. They wouldn't be getting any surrender from him. Henry wasn't about to give them that kind of satisfaction. He was going to fight to the death on this roof.

 _Fuck 'em_ , Henry thought with a mix of anger and eager anticipation. _If they want to stop me, they're gonna have to fucking kill me._

It was two whole hours before they figured out he was lying about the bomb, stormed the rooftop, and did just that.

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 **A/N: This is my first-ever story for** _ **Law & Order: SVU**_ **. I would not say I am a fan of the show, so in that sense this is not a fan-fiction. But the show has its moments and there's been some episodes that have interested me, like this one.**

 **This story references** _ **Apt Pupil**_ **by Stephen King, especially at the end; the final sentence is almost directly borrowed from the end of** _ **Apt Pupil**_ **. Difference being that Todd went crazy over time, while Henry Mesner was probably cold and murderous all his life- one of the few who, somehow or another, is born without the normal capacity for moral reasoning and is completely unbothered by any sort of conscience.**

 **Several times in this story, I reference The Good Son by Todd Strasser, a tie-in novel for a movie of the same name; both were released in 1993. Henry Mesner fearfully refers to mental institutions as "those places" or "one of those places", avoiding use of the actual word. He fears losing his freedom enough that he would rather die than be sent to "one of those places". This is all based off of Henry Evans. Additionally, The Good Son had its title rendered- or maybe rent- into several different languages, and the original name didn't always make the transition.** _ **The Second Face**_ **(Germany),** _ **The Evil Angel**_ **(Argentina, Mexico), and** _ **The True Face of Evil**_ **(Hungary, at least on the DVD) were all alternative titles, so since I was aiming to base Henry Mesner of Henry Evans anyway- there is more than one similarity between them- I figured I'd use a title referencing Henry Evans' movie for a story about Henry Mesner.**

 **Mr. Burke does not own any firearms besides his old Colt, which I believe was an M1911. I threw in the M1903A3 Springfield because Henry Mesner, had he chosen the different course for a "last stand" that I have him take, would have needed a longer-range firearm than the M1911, a .45 ACP pistol that would have a heck of a time accurately hitting targets 14 stories below on 5** **th** **Avenue. The Springfield let Henry go on a shooting spree, in a deliberate effort to go for "suicide by cop" in the end, without handing him any .50-caliber sniper rifles or belt-fed machine guns, which you'd have a hell of a time trying to own in New York City anyway.**

 **An M1903 is a bit big for a 10-year-old, but boys that young have served as child soldiers many times, including in World War II, where the service rifle of every country but the United States was a bolt-action rifle. Henry would have a harder time of it than if he was older and stronger, but he'd be able to pick up and use a Springfield.**

 **The fact that Henry gets more than one principal character's name wrong is no accident. Since sociopaths and psychopaths tend to have a high sense of self-esteem, easily developing it into a God complex, Henry intentionally either forgets the detectives' and officials' names or just makes up dismissive nicknames for them. They're trained professionals, every one, but to Henry Mesner they don't matter at all. Only he matters.**

 **BuccaneerBay is a fictionalized reference to PirateBay.**

 **I started writing this story in October 2016, and worked on it on and off. With my uploading it in May 2017, the story took seven months from beginning to completion. A long stretch of time for a story whose document amounts to just over 5,000 words and 12 pages.**

 **In the episode this story is set in, Henry Mesner mockingly asks Detective Nick Amaro about "What would you do if I shot you right now?" and "Would your brains come out of your forehead?" Because Henry never has that conversation with Amaro in this version of events, I have him wondering about it instead as he takes aim with the rifle.**

 **Lastly, I did not write this to glorify Henry Mesner or any real-world individuals who are anything like him. I did not write this out of agreement with Henry or anything he does. It is merely an interesting idea for that episode. Had Henry Mesner planned better for the chance that he might get himself backed into a corner one day, had his friend's dad owned a rifle and had Henry figured that out, this version of events could have happened.** _ **Law & Order**_ **has a way of portraying law enforcement as always getting the bad guys. In reality, the bad guys get away with it more often than we'd like to think- and come closer to succeeding than we'd like to think.**


End file.
